We're not even going through the motions yet...

I think I might have had a bit of an episode this week. It wasn't a full on diva -esque Prince Philip rant but it nearly headed in that direction. So the roof HASN'T gone on because our new chum the mayor has decided that if we're going to move into the house it needs permission in our name and not of the people who are selling it. So we shot ourselves in the foot by going to see her and enthusing about our plans, bouncing into her office with ipads full of artists impressions of our barn. It's fine for a roof to go on for A.N. Other as part of the selling process but when it's specifically for people with names and faces, a chain saw on their ebay watch list and a copy of Grow Your Own by the side of their bed then it's not alright. No I don't get the logic either. But when I asked if she was likely to approve the new roof I was assured "of course, she wants you to move in so she can have your taxes", I suppose when most of your other citizens have a bell round their neck and answer to Daisy or the French equivalent we must be hot to trot, fiscally speaking.

If that wasnt bad enough the septic tank hasn't gone in either for the same reason. Catering for anonymous effluent is fine but as soon as you think you might know to whom the effluent belongs it needs more permits than a mini break in Tripoli.

And then there's the front door... we think it's not wide enough to take most furniture so we will need to widen one of the doors into the barn. I think we might just do that.......


We had a dress rehearsal for developing gites last weekend. Well low grade corporate espionage with buns for tea. We went and stayed and in a Landmark Trust house for the weekend. No we will never be able to compete with them on architecture and roccoco mouldings but I am hoping we can show them a thing or two about hospitality and making life simple for your guests; like providing matches to light the fire and Scrabble. The Landmark Trust take a somewhat puritanical view to modernity. There was no TV, no wi-fi and no radio. The only books they had were terribly learned on subjects i'd have needed to look up if there was Googling options. I was like a caged tiger 48 hours in and realised that in France I would have to acquiesce and invest in satellite televison. It might even be a good way to perfect my French unless France too has endless programmes about house buying and renovation... "Homes under the Red Tape"? or for the even more stressed "Sedation, sedation, sedation", more likely though "60 month makeover"

Where is Iron Girder? I've not seen her in public since that chap poured those beers down her neck. I've decided she's probably hiding as she now realises she's lent all her money to Greece who will still need lots more and that's before Spain and Portugal knock on her door before going to wonga.com

I'm feeling a bit karma

I've felt at a real crossroads this week. In an almost entirely good way. Having been frustrated at the pace of change, I decided that it wasn't worth ulcer-ising ones self over things that were almost impossible to influence any more than I currently am. I hate having my photo taken and it's never a good outcome but to mark this moment in history I got a friend to take some. I want to be able to look back at them and say "that was the moment aged 39.5 that you deliberately through everything that was beautifully fixed and working up into the air. You stretched your relationship and tested your resilience to new heights. Nutter"

I do feel caught in an emotional air lock if I am honest. Not quite finished old job, not quite started new life... contracts signed on French house, showing people around the UK house.

On the last point, David Mees has tried hard for 12 years to get me to pick up my undergarments instead of stepping out of them somewhere convenient. He's failed. Having strangers wandering around our home has done the trick...in fact dogs and David Mees are terrified of me when I get into "scented candle mode"...it's what happens when Christine calls to say "Good news! I have a viewing for you"... I charge around lighting the candles (Jungle Jasmine - sounds like a female porn star but never mind) and shoving things randomly under beds and into cupboards. So far this exercise has lost us a set of car keys, an ipod and a dog lead. All to be found when we move out but I am missing "30 disco classics for driving"

The French contract is on it's way to us, we then send them some money and wait 8 weeks then it's ours! I felt I needed to put some karma in the karma bank account for our good luck this week. An opportunity presented itself when rescuing an Alsation called Louie who'd escaped from his home. He was a failed police dog - he'd failed the biting test, fairly evident when he wanted to sit on my knee and love me as I tried to drive him home.

Friday night took us to a dinner party of 10... we met a fantastic guy, pushing 60 who ten years ago bought a house in France. We swapped notes on the experience especially dealing with the French legal system. He recounted taking Carrefour bags full of money to the notaire. I rather hope we can use electronic banking or certainly better bags. At the end he looked sadly at me and said "It was the most stupid thing I've ever done" - my heart sank into the profiteroles and I must have worn it on my sleeve. He smiled, leant over and touched my hand. "selling it again dear boy, selling it again. I should have kept it and moved there"